


'cause you and your pretty eyes

by starcanopus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Fluff, Friendship, Kid!Fic, M/M, Mates, Meet-Cute, Protectiveness, Romance, bc they're bbies, had to write this without profanity and it's the hardest thing i've ever done bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 17:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcanopus/pseuds/starcanopus
Summary: Stiles Stilinski decides that he’s going to be Derek Hale’s best friend the moment he lays eyes on him at recess during his first day at Beacon Hills Elementary School.He also thinks—somewhere between spotting the other boy and marching up to the tree he’s huddled under—that Derek Hale is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen, with gorgeous gold eyes that flare like rays of sunrise, and Stiles would very much like to marry him one day so he can stare into them forever.Stilesalsocomes to the conclusion that Jackson Whittemore is the biggest buttface in the entire universe who probably only has one brain cell, and Stiles vehemently hopes that the boy trips over his stupid, shiny loafers.





	'cause you and your pretty eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired in part by one of the scenes in [Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403131/chapters/5314184) by [xiaq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaq/pseuds/xiaq)! It's a great fic, I'd definitely recommend.
> 
> also I just really wanted an excuse to write kid!Stiles and Derek with obscene amounts of fluff yeet

_ 'cause you and your pretty eyes _

Stiles Stilinski decides that he’s going to be Derek Hale’s best friend the moment he lays eyes on him at recess during his first day at Beacon Hills Elementary School.

He also thinks—somewhere between spotting the other boy and marching up to the tree he’s huddled under—that Derek Hale is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen, with gorgeous gold eyes that flare like rays of sunrise, and Stiles would very much like to marry him one day so he can stare into them forever.

Stiles _also_ comes to the conclusion that Jackson Whittemore is the biggest buttface in the entire universe who probably only has one brain cell, and Stiles vehemently hopes that the boy trips over his stupid, shiny loafers.

Admittedly all of this, combined with his propensity for always finding trouble, is how Stiles finds himself slouching in a seat outside the principal’s office as he kicks his feet up and wriggles around to try and find a comfortable position, irritated by the shrieking noises coming from inside the office. Stiles tries his best to eavesdrop, but the woman’s voice sounds not unlike a harpy dying and he can barely understand what the hag is saying. Judging from the pained expression on the face of the young werewolf sitting next to him, his new best friend seems to think so too. The other boy’s eyes are green now and they’re just as stunning as his glowing, gold ones. Stiles would never admit it and his dad has told him many times that it’s rude to stare, but he can’t help but find himself stealing quite a few glances in an attempt to figure out exactly what other colors dance around in those pretty eyes. Some flecks of rust. A tint of blue and stormy grey. They’re liquid pools of mystery and Stiles _loves_ mysteries.

His new best friend is painfully shy, Stiles learns very quickly. Whenever Stiles looks at him directly, the boy would tip his head down until his chin is nearly covered by the collar of his shirt, the tips of his big ears turning pink and his dark eyebrows drawing together anxiously. He doesn’t really talk either but that’s okay because Stiles can talk enough for the both of them. And he does. He rambles on and on about his latest Star Wars series marathon, how disgusting the cafeteria’s broccoli is, and how curly fries are the _best_ kind of fries. Sometimes he’d see a small twitch from the other boy, particularly when it comes to Star Wars, and Stiles would rejoice internally for having gotten a reaction out of him at all.

Stiles also notices that the boy has taken to sniffing the air once in a while and he surreptitiously tips his chin down so he can smell his own shirt, frowning. He _knows_ he's clean, he showered just last night.

Heavy footsteps drag Stiles’s attention away from his babbling and he looks up, only to shrink back when he sees his father bearing down upon him, the man’s expression stern and filled with disappointment. He’s not in uniform today and Stiles feels just a little guilty making his father have to worry about things on his day off. Stiles lowers his gaze, mumbling a quick “hi, Dad.”

There’s movement behind his father and Stiles cranes his neck to see an unfamiliar, dark-haired woman also rounding the corner of the office and walking quickly into the reception area. She’s pretty, dressed up very nicely and her dark hair all done up in a style that he’s seen before on his mother when she has business meetings.

“For God’s sake, Stiles.” His father quickly signs in on the clipboard at the secretary’s desk before hurrying over and stopping in front of him. He props his hands up on his hips, sighing heavily in frustration, though his dad does bend on one knee to lower himself to Stiles’s level so he can examine the purpling bruises on his face. Stiles closes his eyes and leans into the cool touch that provides a little relief to the aching pain. The school nurse had given him an ice pack but it had been much too cold and is now lying onto the seat to his left, unused. “Really? On your _first_ day of school?”

Stiles just pouts, folding his arms grumpily.

The other woman barrels gracefully (Stiles didn’t know that people _could _barrel that gracefully) toward his new best friend, who jumps up and runs to her, throwing his arms around her waist. “Derek Stephen Hale, do you have _any_ idea how _worried_ I was when I received that phone call?”

Stiles perks up and beams. So _that_ is his new friend’s name. Derek. He weighs the name on his tongue, mouthing it quietly. Derek Stephen Hale.

“Hale?” Stiles’s father pales and whips his head around to look at Stiles sharply, his lips thinning. “Stiles, _tell_ me you didn’t pick a fight with—“

“You must be the mother of that _monster_ who hurt my son.”

Ugh. Stiles looks away from his father toward the doorway of the principal’s office and takes everything he said back and apologizes profusely to harpies and hags in general because they pale in comparison to the vicious expression on this lady’s face. It’s beyond evil. And Stiles knows what Emperor Palpatine looks like okay, and this woman is definitely worse. There’s hatred simmering deep in the woman’s gaze and it’s all directed toward Derek and his mom. The Supreme Buttface is halfway hidden behind his mother, still looking dumb as rocks and Stiles wrinkles his nose. A man, who must be the idiot’s father, steps out from behind them. He has slicked back hair and is clad in an expensive-looking business suit and Stiles is briefly reminded of a villain he saw once in one of his comic books.

Mr. Anderson, the principal, winces at the woman’s tone and rises from his seat to come out of the office and into the waiting area. “Now, Mrs. Whittemore, there’s no need for such—”

“Do _not_ tell me what to do.” The woman whirls back around, jabbing a finger at Derek. “It’s reasons like _this_ that my husband and I have been advocating for separate education for humans a-and _those_. Look at what he did to my Jackson!”

She thrusts Buttf- Jackson forward, giving everyone a clear view of the boy’s black eye and bruised lip.

Though she had maintained a regal posture throughout the other woman’s entire tirade, Derek’s mother widens her eyes when she sees the injuries on the boy’s face. Her hand tightens on Derek’s shoulder and she dips her gaze down toward her son, presumably to say something but Stiles beats her to it.

“What are you _talking_ about? Derek didn’t do that.”

He sniffs, hopping to his feet and propping his hands up on his hips. He’s getting very good at that too, thanks to his father who has mastered the Ultimate Looks of Disapproval. Which are usually aimed at Stiles though, now that he thinks of it.

Stiles puffs up his chest proudly and declares shamelessly, “_I_ did.”

His father groans. “Stiles, _what.”_

The woman’s mouth falls open slightly and she splutters, much to Stiles’s great pleasure. Clearly, he’d derailed whatever speciesist monologue she’d been about to embark on. Mrs. Whittemore rounds on her son and hisses, “Is this true?”

Jackson turns bright red and his eyes dart around as though looking for an escape route.

Stiles stares at Jackson. Had the boy really tried to claim that _Derek_ had been the one to fight him? _Why? _Did he not notice the circle of at least ten other students who were also there under the big oak tree, watching Stiles punch Jackson so hard he fell backwards? Sometimes people are so stupid Stiles kind of wants to lie down and have an existential crisis. Maybe more than one.

“Jackson.” It’s Mr. Whittemore who speaks this time, his eyes hard and cold as they drill into his son’s. Stiles is starting to understand now. He knows he’s scrappy-looking and it must have seemed better to Jackson to blame the werewolf instead of the puny human. He huffs. He’s not _that_ small.

Mr. Anderson sighs and he steps forward, lifting his hands placatingly. “Mr. Whittemore, please. We’ve heard from Jackson already and I think we should also give a chance for the other boys to speak.” He folds his arms and frowns down at Stiles. “If you’re telling the truth, that’s not okay, Stiles. Given who your father is, I would have expected you of all people to know how to use their words. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“The buttf- he was pushing Derek around. I _saw._” Stiles protests, because yes, he knows perfectly well how to use his words—he had, after all, been privy to many a de-escalation training session at the station when waiting for his father’s shifts to end. “He was saying all sorts of mean things just because Derek was all wolfy and he was kicking him too. But Derek wasn’t _doing_ anything bad and he wasn’t touching anyone, he was just trying to shift back!”

Mrs. Hale frowns at that, her eyes growing soft with worry as she smoothes a hand through Derek’s hair.

One of the supervising teachers who’d broken up the fight and had been waiting with Stiles and Derek clears her throat, glancing at Mr. Whittemore warily. “That…_is_ what the other students have claimed as well."

Stiles puffs up even more. 

Jackson's father jabs a finger at Stiles. “That gives you _no _right to lay a hand on my son, _unprovoked_.” Mr. Whittemore grits out the words like it physically pains him to be speaking to a first grader. There seems to be a vein throbbing on the side of his neck and Stiles stares at it for a bit, hoping that he could maybe will it to pop but when it doesn’t, he lifts his head to glare at Mr. Whittemore.

“I know all about the National Lycanthropy Act. Which is, by the way, a load of restrictive bu—“

Stiles’s father clamps a hand down on his shoulder.

“—baloney that’s just plain dicrism- _discriminatory_.” Stiles prattles on, quite proud of the big words that he’d learned last week during one dinner when he had interrogated his father about werewolf rights. He turns his nose up at the Whittemores. “I knew that Derek couldn’t fight back to stop him or else he and his family would be in big, big trouble and he _didn’t_.” Pausing, Stiles grins proudly. “So I did it instead.”

Jackson’s mother is rapidly turning ten different shades of purple.

He can feel the waves of disapproval rolling off of his father but Stiles doesn’t really care at this point. Because Derek, who’s clutching his mother’s hand, is staring at him wondrously with those pretty green eyes and Stiles all but melts with satisfaction. The boy’s lips are parted slightly and he’s gaping at Stiles, to which he sends him a blinding ‘I got this’ grin and Derek flushes, turning his head quickly so his face is hidden behind his mother’s legs. Stiles pouts. Derek's mom is also looking at him, a strange expression on her face like she's trying to figure something out.

“So what you’re saying is that this…_boy_ transformed in front of my son.” Mr. Whittemore’s eyes glitter triumphantly. “He wasn’t under _control_, is that right?”

Derek shrinks further into himself, ducking his head down and his lower lip trembles a little.

“That’s _not_ what I meant, you single-celled organism.” Stiles glowers at the man and mutters angrily under his breath, soft enough so that the adults can’t hear. Well, apart from Derek’s mother, who he swears he can see suppress a smile.

His dad seems to echo his sentiments though, because he scoffs, "You're reaching, Whittemore. Everyone knows that young werewolves sometimes have trouble shifting, particularly during periods of stress and change like the first day of school. If Derek here had isolated himself to deal with it—as is standard procedure—and your son still purposefully went out of his way to attack him, that’s not a violation of the NLA. That’s instigation on your son’s behalf.”

There’s a brief pause, like Mr. Whittemore is contemplating what Stiles’s dad is saying, but then his wife is elbowing him and hissing, “Look at what they did to our _son_, David.” And then the uncertain expression is gone and he’s pulling a phone out of his suit’s pocket.

“And yet, your son is the one who attacked mine. This doesn’t change anything. I will need all your names.” Mr. Whittemore says arrogantly, “My son merely reacted to what he perceived as a threat, which was a creature _shifting_ in _public_, while _your_ son dared to use violence against mine. This doesn’t bode well for your career, _Sheriff__ Stilinski__.”_

“Now listen here—” Stiles’s father bristles, one foot stepping forward, but he stills when Mrs. Hale places a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“You can be certain that I will be in contact with my lawyer as soon as I have your information,” continues Mr. Whittemore, his gaze shifting to land on Mrs. Hale. He sneers spitefully, “And you’ll soon wish that you had homeschooled your son instead of endangering other the lives of other students in this school.”

Mr. Anderson startles. “Mr. Whittemore, that’s _really_ not a good i—”

“Certainly.” Derek’s mother interrupts the principal, voice calm and measured. Stiles can’t believe how unphased she seems. His own fists are curled up and he’s tempted to go over and make sure father and son have matching black eyes, never mind that he can’t reach Mr. Whittemore’s face. He’d figure something out.

“I am Alpha Talia Hale and this is my son, Derek Stephen Hale.”

The man nearly drops his phone. Mrs. Whittemore takes a step back and all the color has been drained from her face. Stiles looks up at his dad, confused, because he remembered that his father had reacted in a similar fashion when he’d heard Derek’s name.

Mrs. Hale smiles serenely, but Stiles can see the defiance and pride glittering behind her eyes and her voice is cold and professional when she speaks. “And by all means, please do send over any documents to my _team_ of lawyers. They would be happy to take a look. However, Mr. Whittemore, if you do plan on taking action against either Sheriff Stilinski or me, I would highly encourage you to consider the risks to your own family and _your_ career.” She tilts her head ever so slightly and plucks a sleek cell phone out of her blazer’s pocket, long fingers wiggling it. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if the Attorney General of the United States was made aware of just how bigoted and anti-werewolf one of the attorneys employed by the state of California is? What was it that you called my son, oh yes ‘creature,’ did you say?”

Mr. Whittemore pales.

Stiles gapes. Derek’s mom. Is. _Awesome_.

“Well,” Mr. Anderson coughs into his hand and tries to salvage the situation, “seeing as we do have a zero tolerance policy for violence, normally we would be handing out one week suspensions. However…given the unique situation and it is the start of the school year, I would say that one week of after-school detentions would be sufficient for Stiles and Jackson. And Mrs. Hale, you would need to provide documentation for at least a week's worth of shift-training sessions with your son. Does that sound like an acceptable deal for everyone?”

"Sounds good to me." Stiles's dad shrugs, though he does give Stiles a look, indicating that they will be having words about this situation again later. Mrs. Hale inclines her head slightly in acknowledgement.

Mrs. Whittemore looks like she wants to say more, but Mr. Whittemore clamps a hand down on his wife’s arm and Jackson’s, biting out tersely, “Yes.”

“Excellent, I’ll have the secretary contact you with further details.”

As soon as the principal is finished speaking, Mr. Whittemore is dragging his family out of the office and is gone before Stiles can blink again. Mrs. Hale is gazing after them, a faintly amused expression crossing her face.

“Dad?” Stiles pokes his father’s hip, earning a sharp look that he brushes aside. He asks curiously, “Is Mrs. Hale important or something?”

“You could say that.” His dad chuckles lowly and leans down. “Do you remember what I told you about old, regional packs? And how big of a deal they are in werewolf society?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well,” Stiles’s father whispers conspiratorially, a half-smile on his face, “You’re looking at the Pacific Regional Alpha.”

Stiles’s jaw drops. Oh _wow_. His new best friend is like the son of the _president_? Of werewolves, of course. No wonder Mr. Whittemore had looked like he was going to pee his pants. Stiles just barely restrains himself from chasing after the bullies to stick out his tongue and gloat. Well, nobody can stop him from gloating, he’s doing that plenty right now.

Mrs. Hale turns to his father and holds out a hand, smiling amicably. “Sheriff, I’ve been meaning to sit down with you sometime to update our territory claims in Beacon Hills, ever since we moved back. I’m disappointed we had to meet under such unfavorable circumstances.”

“No, of course,” Stiles’s dad shakes her hand firmly and returns her smile. “I’m sorry that your son had to deal with this on his first day already. I promise that most people in Beacon Hills aren’t…like the Whittemores.”

Mrs. Hale cocks her head and her eyes twinkle down at Stiles. “Yes, I can see that already.”

“I’m sorry too.” Stiles tells Mrs. Hale seriously, though he’s not sure how grave of an impression he’s making given how much taller the woman is and how he has to crane his neck to look up at her. “Humans must suck sometimes.”

One perfect eyebrow arches and Mrs. Hale chuckles. “Why, aren’t _you_ quite the clever boy. Sheriff, I must say, you’ve done well with this one.”

His dad groans and shakes his head, tone exasperated. “Oh jeez, don’t get me started. He’s too smart for his own good.”

Stiles ignores his dad. He's trying to catch Derek's attention and finally manages to, but then the boy simply sniffs the air again and looks up at his mother. Stiles slouches again, resisting the urge to stomp his foot in disappointment.

“Mom.” Derek tugs on his mother’s sleeve urgently. Mrs. Hale bends at her knees so she’s closer to her son’s level as he whispers so quietly that Stiles just barely misses what he says.

“My wolf really likes him.”

Stiles straightens and preens a little because that sounds like a good thing, right? But Mrs. Hale seems quite surprised at her son’s words because her eyes widen imperceptibly, lips parting to form a little ‘o.’ If Stiles hadn’t been watching closely he would have missed it because the expression disappears in a heartbeat. Mrs. Hale turns her head so she can look at Stiles appraisingly and he shifts uncomfortably under her unblinking gaze, tugging at his plaid shirt uneasily and glancing up at her shyly from under his lashes. She must find whatever she’s searching for though because Mrs. Hale’s lips slowly curve into an approving smile, and Stiles perks up when he sees Derek is finally looking at him again too.

He vaguely hears Mrs. Hale say something like “That’s good, Derek. That’s _very_ good.” But he’s more focused on marching up close to the other boy and planting himself right in front of him. Stiles is pleased that this time, Derek doesn’t turn away.

“I’m going to be your friend.” Stiles declares, thrusting out a hand at Derek. If there are more kids like that stupid Jackson in this school, then Stiles is going to do his best to make sure they never ever get to his friend like that again.

The other boy stares at him, wide-eyed and stunned. There’s a long silence that’s just enough to make Stiles start to worry a bit, but then a small smile appears, little bunny teeth poking out from behind the other boy’s lips. Stiles’s brain goes offline for a second because Derek Hale is just so _cute _and_ perfect _and Stiles kind of just wants to hug him right then and there. And then ask if he can hug him in his shifted form because Stiles _bets_ that it would feel so soft and cuddly.

He hears an exasperated sigh from his father. “Stiles you can’t just—”

“Okay.”

Derek’s hand, the one not holding onto his mother’s, is warm when it clasps his and Stiles beams, giving it a firm pump just like how his father had taught him to.

“I’m also going to marry you one day.” Stiles says confidently.

He’s pretty sure the strange, wheezing noise coming from behind him is his father choking on air and there’s a delighted laugh from Mrs. Hale (“I think we’ll be seeing much more of each other in the future, Sheriff”), but Stiles ignores both of them in favor of waiting for his new best friend’s answer.

Derek’s smile just widens and the other boy nods his head so quickly and hard that Stiles gets a little dizzy just looking at him. The hand he’s holding gives his a tiny squeeze and suddenly Stiles feels like his heart is trying its best to jump out of his chest, it’s beating that quickly.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Title from the song: [Pretty Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxpiK1RqRHY) by Alex Goot


End file.
